If it was up to me, Charlie wouldn’t still be living here rent free, Ava thought, pulling the surgical mask off her face. But Rylee would lose her shit, then it would become a screaming match, and before I know it, she’s threatening to rip me a new one just because she’s angry at me for one week and needs me the next. Ava used her teeth to peel the plastic gloves off her fingers, then grabbed a water bottle and cracked the seal. Liquid gold. Clean water was a myth in Lower Olympus, and the piping Rylee had fixed months ago only kicked off what must’ve been the bloodiest afternoon nobody had ever heard of, and just like that, almost everybody in this part of the city was thirsty and filthy again.

  Except Ava, because she was smart, she was cunning, and she wasn’t going to drink the tap water. God knows what was in the pipes and rotting in the water treatment facilities anymore. It had come out brown and thick over the last month or so, probably because someone stupid had thought about turning the pumps on again without considering just how much filth ran through this city’s veins. For all she knew, the tap water was chalk-full of a cocktail of drugs that could kill a Kaiju and most definitely give a Normal a heart attack.

  But it would have to do, because this was a lot more blood than she thought would’ve come out of a dead body. She’d stuck to the bathroom down the hallway in one of the empty apartments, cut the body up nice and neatly, fed him food through a tube until he stopped moving, and finally sectioned pieces off his torso into the correct garbage bags. The room stank of death, musky and tangy, a little bit like the old cigarettes Mother used to chainsmoke. Ava could go for one of those right now. Just not yet. She might be done grinding and cutting and sawing through bones and joints and rocky flesh, but superhuman body parts go for a lot these days, what could she say? A girl’s gotta clean up the street somehow, and Taylor is squeamish, and God forbid Charlie leaves that room of hers for more than five minutes at a time. The only person Ava had left was Lucia, which wasn’t saying much at all.

  Lucia pulled the surgical mask under her chin and stretched her arms over her head. She’d healed pretty well, but that’s what happened when you pumped someone full of superhuman blood. Well, sometimes. Cancer and growths and the possibility Lucia might morph into a fleshy pile of malformed body parts aside, she was fine.

  “Well, that was a good day’s work, wasn’t it?” the arm’s dealer said. She pulled the thick black gloves off her hands and hung them on a rack. The tiles and walls were blood-smeared, but they’d been that way even before they got here. “I’ll get in touch with Carter to see who’s looking for hearts. I heard they go for so much recently with all the gang wars happening.”

  Ava massaged the back of her neck and pulled off the blood-streaked goggles she’d borrowed from Taylor. She put out her hand and waited. Lucia sighed through her nose and handed Ava her circular classes. “Not yet,” Ava said, unbuttoning the leather jumpsuit. “I want to talk to Charlie about something.” She dumped the thick leather monstrosity onto the bloody floor and shoved it deep inside of a wash hamper. She stole the cigarette out of Lucia’s mouth before she could light it, then tapped the sign she’d personally put on the wall: Contamination of Goods Is Prohibited. Ava put out her hand. Lucia grumbled and forced the pack of thin matches onto her palm. “You’re on cleanup duty. Do me a favor and weigh each bag. And don’t skim money from me, Lucia. Our hands are dirty but that doesn’t mean we’ve got to become so petty we pinch pennies from each other. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  Lucia snapped off a lazy salute, her right hand missing two fingers.

  Courtesy, of course, from Ava, who kept those two fingers sewn together in her chest pocket. The second those dark, dull eyes lit up with the thought of fucking her over, was also the second she’d snap the fingers in half and break Lucia’s spine into bits; a little dark magic was good for the soul, especially when you've bound two things together. Regular humans don’t sell for much anymore, something to do with an oversaturated organ market right not, but hey, there’s always someone looking for body parts these days, what with all the gang wars and death and the glorious, everyday life of having to live in this god-forsaken place.

  Ava shoved open the bathroom door and stepped into the workshop—the hastily remodeled living room and kitchen used to keep tools, leather jumpsuits, boots and body bags and a power-hungry freezer running off two generators. She slid her feet into a pair of pink bedroom socks and shuffled into the hallway.

  She carefully lit the cigarette, held the smoke in her throat, let it burn until it hurt, then she sighed.

  Ava smelt blood on her fingers, right under her nails. She washed and she scrubbed for half an hour almost every morning. But it just wouldn’t come off. It wasn’t the look of it, or how dark dried blood became.

  It was the smell, like she was this animal ripping people apart with her hands. Desperate. Savage.

  She was better than this. So much better than this.

  But it paid the bills, and it kept the entire building to herself, so…

  Functional murder, is what she called it. Practical Evil.

  “Charlie,” Ava said, knocking on her door. Taylor, again, was on the couch, feet up on a stack of pillows as she flipped through an old comic book she’d salvaged from somewhere. A stench was slipping out from under the door, slightly metallic, like car batteries burning. Ava knocked harder and took the filterless cigarette out of her mouth. “Charlie,” she said louder, now with a bite in her tone. “I need to talk to you, and I know you can hear me.”

  “Have you tried saying please?” Taylor asked her.

  “Have you tried pulling your weight around here?”

  Taylor stuck out her tongue, piercing and all. “Last time I checked, I’m the one transporting your ‘goods,’ and for free, by the way!” Taylor sat upright and knelt on the couch. She draped her arms over the couch and said, “Teleporting is the highest cause of heart palpitations, you know that? I'm at risk of having a brain anuerysm before I'm twenty-five, Av'. It’s a miracle I’m awake right now.”

  Ava looked at her, cigarette between her fingertips and smoke hanging in the air. “I once knew a Teleporter who could move actual cargo over miles. Gold. Shipping containers. Entire trucks. Groups of people. You’re lazy, Taylor, is what you are, and if you want me to be nicer, you’d pop into Charlie’s room and get her for me, alright?”

  Taylor faked a small smile. “You’re not a great people person, you know that?”

  “Just get the girl already,” Ava sighed.

  She popped out of existence, then reappeared in front of Ava with her arm around a slightly frazzled Charlie. Her hair was wild, orange, and short, like a candle flame trying to smolder. She blinked and winced at the pale beams of light streaking through the curtains. Early morning. And judging by how pale her skin had gotten and how thin her hair was and that smell coming off her skin, Charlie hadn’t been outside of her room in days.

  Ava had been busy. Very busy. She couldn’t keep track of every little thing, either.

  Not when she sometimes spent minutes looking into the sky every morning, thinking Rylee would streak through the clouds again, leaving behind trails of scarlet and gold, because that’s how it would happen, right? She wouldn’t say a thing to Ava for months, and then one day she’d rock up at her front door looking for another favor, and pretend everything was just fine.

  God, she hated to admit it, but she missed her superhero, because what was any of this for if she didn’t even have anyone to tell her ‘stop it, Ava, you’re losing your freaking mind.’ Lucian had Zeus. Peacemaker had Sam-Red. Patriot and Valor had Hate and Chaos. But those were all in the past, tucked away in history books that nobody would ever open. Ava had…nobody. She had an arm’s dealer, a Teleporter who was already sparking the end of a blunt by the time she was on the couch again, and Charlie. Sweet, innocent, confused Charlie who was violently scratching her arms and blinking around like she’s trying to remember exactly where she was right now. Ava shook her head.

  Well, she had to work with what she had, right?

  “Follow,” Ava said, cigarette in her mouth, hand in her pocket, she headed for the door.

  Charlie didn’t follow. She stood there, creeped out by every shadow in the apartment.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  She massaged her eyes, slowly turned around, and said, “Charlie, for the love of God, please just—”

  She scratched her forearm, kept scratching and scratching like she was trying to get to her veins. “I told you not to interrupt me,” she said harshly. She cleared her throat. “You know what I’m doing is really important.”

  “And what is that exactly, weirdo?” Taylor asked her.

  “None of your business,” she snapped.

  Taylor put up her hands. “Woah. Chill, dude, I’m just asking you a question.”

  “Sorry,” Charlie muttered. Then she shook her head. “I just… I just need to focus right now. I’m close.”

  “And that’s great, Charlie, but I need you right now, alright?” Ava spread her arms. “All I need is five minutes. Walk with me, and we’ll both get some air on the rooftop, and then I won’t interrupt you again, either.”

  “You smell like blood,” Charlie muttered. “I hate the smell of blood.”

  “Fantastic,” Ava said, then waved her hand outside the door. “Now can we please get moving?”

  “Look at you, finally saying please,” Taylor said, nodding sagely. “Good job, Av’.”

  Ava hadn’t felt like herself recently, but she almost felt like herself right then. Just so…angry. That was the word. Not raging. Not hateful. Just angry. So fucking angry. But she sucked on the cigarette, let the smoke build in her throat, and sighed it through her nose as she stared at Charlie through the light-grey sheen in the air. The girl coughed and batted the smoke away. Ava tried not to clench her jaw. It’s fine. It’s fine. Just…focus. She’s like Witchling, right? And Witchling always did her own thing, up until I offered her what she wanted, so…fine.

  “If you come with me, Charlie,” Ava said quietly, “I’ll tell you how to get into the House of One.”

  Taylor stopped smoking and slowly sat upright to stare at Ava. Lucia, who’d been whistling down the hallway, suddenly went silent. Charlie, though, lit up like a flashlight and grabbed both of Ava’s shoulders, digging her fingernails almost through her t-shirt. Christ, Ava thought. She’s even starting to smell like the Witch as well.

  Ava hated magic out of principle. It was the one thing that just couldn’t get a hold of on the market. How can you sell something intangible? How can you even start selling something so vague it might just be Telepathy?

  If Ava could bottle it and sell it, she would have a long time ago. But Telepaths are hard to come by.

  Luckily for them, too, otherwise Lucian would’ve started selling them decades ago.

  “You mean that?” Charlie breathed. Hot, nasty air washed over Ava’s face. “Actually?”

  “Yeah, actually?” Taylor said. “I thought that place was some kind of bedtime story.”

  Ava said, “I’m only going to cooperate if you do, too. So get your hands off me and let's move, Charlie.”

  She hadn’t seen Charlie move that quickly in, well, ever. She almost bounded up the stairs and tore the metal roof door off its hinges. When Ava finally got there, the girl was a sweating, panting mess that reeked of batteries and sleepless nights and dehydration. Ava took her time getting to the building’s ledge, leaning against it as she pulled the cigarette out of her mouth. For a moment, she shut her eyes and listened to the wind, at least to the tiny gasps of it that slipped through the skeletal, burnt-out remains of Lower Olympus. Gunfire already. Screaming in the distance. The ground violently shook, quickly followed by a distant blast of heat. Ava glanced to her right as whatever bomb or superhuman sent a large black cloud gushing into the sky. Ava sucked on the cigarette some more, then glanced into the clouds. Husky. Gray. She checked her watch, then snuffed the cigarette and turned.

  Charlie was waiting there, almost twitching and scratching and biting her own hair.

  Jesus, the next time Rylee sees her, she’ll think I chained her up inside that bedroom.

  Ava leaned her back against the ledge. “I’ve heard a rumor recently. A big rumor.”

  “Okay?” Charlie scratched the back of her neck, sounding like nails against sandpaper. “So?”

  “Olympia’s clone was around Lower Olympus somewhere a while ago,” Ava said. “I didn’t want to believe it for a while, but I did enough digging to come up with the truth that, yes, she was here—and for some reason, she’s also suddenly gone missing.” Ava folded her arms. “A handful of squealing pigs tell me some creature made her—”

  “—go missing,” Charlie said, then swallowed. Her lips were cracked, dry, almost pruney and shriveled. “I know. I think I know. I hear a lot of things these days, and sometimes I don’t know if it’s true, but…yeah. I know.”

  Playing with magic is like playing with a live wire—sometimes it’s a tiny burn, sometimes you get fried, and sometimes you just die.

  Ava wasn’t much of a gambler anymore, but…

  She needed something to make her feel alive again. And she also needed an answer.

  No, she had to be honest with herself: she needed Rylee back in Lower Olympus.

  Or else this place was just going to get even worse.

  And there was also a small, tiny problem of her heart going missing. She’d known where it had been for a while, until one day the tiny box she kept it in wasn’t where it was supposed to be, and her father’s scent lingered in the air like poison where it had been. She didn’t want to think Lucian had gotten his hands on her heart, because she’d made sure it wasn’t easy to find, and even harder to steal—but trust the devil to find a way to ruin every single little thing.

  Was she worried?

  Yes. Yes, God, yes.

  But leaving to find him was suicide. Leaving Lucia in charge so she could hunt her father down would destroy everything she was building. A few days from now, she’ll even have her own water system going, if things went to plan. Before she knew it, this entire street would be a hub. No black market shit. No guns. No drugs. She needed the valuable stuff: fruits, vegetables, meat that wasn’t human, dog, cat, or Kaiju. But she’d need people to protect that, because the last thing she wanted was to spark another war over a bunch of old radishes.

  Ava massaged her temples. Things to do, all the fucking time.

  “Good,” she said to Charlie. “I need you to find her for me.”

  Because the clone might not be Olympia, but she was close, and right now, that was good enough.

  Charlie frowned. “But…why? You’re just gonna use her, aren’t you?”

  “Did the voices in your head tell you that?”

  “Taylor did last night.” Charlie shrugged. “She tells me a lot of things when you’re asleep.”

  She also needed to deal with Taylor. Eventually.

  “Look,” Ava said. “This place isn’t a particularly nice place, Charlie. I want it to become a nice place. I need it to become a nice place. And right now, that’s not going to happen without your help. Rylee would’ve wanted you to do the right thing, wouldn’t she? She’d want you to be a hero, so I’m giving you that chance—find the clone for me, and I’ll tell you how to get into the House of One so you can keep finding whatever it is you’re finding, too. Or if you want help, I know the right kinds of people who'll do just that. All I need you to do is be on my side.”

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you even help me? You’re not a nice person, I know that.”

  “You eat the food I buy, you sleep under the roof I rent, and you dress up in the clothes I nearly beg for, Charlie, all because you’re important to someone who’s not even here anymore. I’m…callous. I get that. So I’m going to be honest with you: you’re not useful to me right now. But I can also see how useful you can be, and how useful we can be to each other. So how about we start doing that? How about we shake hands and agree to tolerate one another long enough for both of us to succeed?” Ava spread her hands. “And if it doesn’t work, then I’ll leave you alone, and you can ask me for whatever my pockets are deep enough to buy. I just need your help here, OK?”

  She hated how this sounded coming out of her mouth, like she was begging, pleading. Crying.

  Especially to a girl who couldn’t stop twitching and wincing at nothing but the wind.

  “Well?” Ava said. “Can we at least try to work together?”

  “I…” Charlie frowned and glanced to Ava’s left, then shook her head. “I want a…what’s it called?”

  “Deposit?”

  She nodded quickly. “I want that. I need to know you’re not going to pull out of this deal.”

  Ava spent a moment thinking, then shrugged. “I know where Witchling is.”

  Charlie blinked, then tugged her lip. “I’ve heard that name. The voices…um…my dreams say it.”

  “I bet they do,” Ava muttered. “If you want to learn magic from someone, learn it from her. She’s the best in the businesses, and at the very least, she also won’t fuck with you, because she’s got a weird soft spot for Olympia.”

  Olympia this, Olympia that—just come back home already, you selfish, selfish superhero.

  Getting hurt at a time like this? The nerve of that girl.

  Charlie nodded slowly, then nodded again. “OK. Alright. Um, yeah, that…that works.”

  “Great,” Ava said, then put on her most convincing smile. “Two days worth of searching equals two days worth of lessons, that’s how this is going to work. You’ll only leave two days from now, with a lead in my hands.”

  Charlie, though, was already skipping down the stairs, excitedly cheering to people who weren’t there.

  Ava sighed and rested her hands against the ledge, then looked into the sky. She paused, then squinted.

  But…

  No, that wasn’t her. Some other Cape tearing through the clouds, ignoring the stench below them.

  She dug her fingernails into the bricks behind her, then forced her shoulders to relax. Ava pulled a tiny piece of paper out of her back pocket and scratched off a group of four lines. Twenty days. Almost a month. The colder winds were dying. If there were trees, they’d probably be trying to get their color back, but all of those had either died, gotten torn out of the ground, or cut down years ago. Empty avenues. Empty streets. Buildings full of homeless people, and gangsters and cults and crooked kinds of Capes lurking around every corner, looking for some kind of easy spare change or a fight to blow off steam. Lower Olympus had always been rough around the edges. It was always going to be rough around the edges. The people living in Greater Olympus didn’t throw their trash in the river and expect this place not to stink. But twenty days ago, things were…better. They felt like they were going to get better. And then Rylee almost died. Almost. Ava didn’t want to think she was actually dead.

  She better not be dead. You better not be dead, Addams.

  Ava folded the piece of paper and slipped it back into her pocket.

  The sound of Lucia’s boots preceded her by a handful of seconds, then she came into the open and said, “Just finished packing it up. I’ve got the junkie loading up the van, so let’s get this shit moving before it’s late.”

  Ava glanced at the sky, just one more time, but the clouds were silent, and so was her chest.

  She drummed her fingers against the ledge, then nodded. “Alright, let’s go sell some superhuman organs.”

  And in some other life, Rylee would've told her this was a bad idea.

  But in this life, Rylee might just be dead.

  You seflish, selfish superhero.

  God, just get back here already.